At a Crossroads
by Mannariel
Summary: Be careful what you wish for...What if D got the only thing he ever wished for- to be human? Fate would never be so kind as to let him keepit, but she may yet show him why humanity is still something worth fighting for.
1. Default Chapter

Ok, I've been bitten by some pretty strange plot bunnies this time; it's been a while, but here they are. Please bear with me on this tale, for I promise it will be like nothing you've seen and certainly like nothing I've ever written.

The standard disclaimers apply: The characters portrayed in my little work of fiction to follow are solely the property of their respective artists and creators and I am receiving no profit for the spinning of this yarn, much to my dismay. So let us procede…

**Chapter 1** –**Be Careful What You Wish For**

Three horses flew over the ground, their hooves thundering madly on the hard packed terrain. In pursuit of these was a lone figure also on horse back, gaining ground quickly and certainly not about to let up when his prey were so close to being within his grasp. Unbeknownst to him, a third rider followed.

Branches whipped at the white hair of the lead rider, her cloak flying behind her with the force of the flight, her white dress whipping like a sail at her sides, and her two female companions' clothing suffering similar duress at the hands of their pace. No words were exchanged between the three, for none were needed. Sisters they were in mind and blood and the urgency of their movements were communicated in subtle fashion by the tension of their posture and the guarded glances behind.

Their chaser grinned as the gap between them shrank. He was almost fully upon them when he felt the presence which dogged his steps. Too late. He turned in time to meet the steel edge of a sword as is slashed towards his throat, severing his handsome head from his well attired body and slackening his gleeful leer. His horse thundered on without him as all others slowed, its rider having become dead weight in the saddle rather than a thinking, controlling entity. It was free too do as it wished and so did, disappearing into the darkening shadows of the wooded area the strange assemblage was now riding clear of.

Clearly out of danger and nearly in unison, the trio whirled around and stopped dead, the white rider at the lead rearing her horse in challenge.

"State your name and your business in following so closely, stranger, or we will be forced to be rid of you in a less than pleasant manner!" White hair cascaded down the sides of her head, framing a face that was neither old nor young but was none the less beautiful to look upon.

At a distance behind them, the figure the came last in the chase sat in perfect stillness on a black horse as dark as the clothing he wore or the thoughts that lay in his heart. "I am D, the hunter." He looked up from under the brim of his hat and met the steely gaze of the woman and her companions before adding, "and you're welcome."

He quickly took note of where they had ended up. The mud road they had traveled on to this point had become rutted and seemed less used. It forked a short distance ahead and a faded splintered sign that had seen too many seasons of rain stood at the crotch. A crossroads.

"We thank you for your charity but had it not been for you we would have dispatched that animal ourselves." Her tone was cold but not thankless. A powerful woman was she but not unkind. Her two companions came forward and she inclined her head slightly, her face softening. "These are my two sisters, Shannon and Ranka and I am called Mirror. We are practitioners of long lost arts including sorcery and the studies of old lore and are perfectly capable of taking care of a mere vampire."

"Or a dhampiel for that matter," Ranka spoke up, her dark hair shimmering in the light drops of rain that had begun to fall. "Regardless, we are honoured to make your acquaintance."

D tilted his head in a look of silent questioning before dismissing their knowledge of his heritage. It was as plain to see as the paleness of the skin of his hands and face. He asked for nothing in return for what he had just done, for whether or not he had been hired to slay the vampire who pursued the purveyors of magic in front of him, he still would have felt it his sworn duty to do so. He had chanced along the event at the right time so he decided to take up the chase in his systematic cleansing of earth of the parasitic filth. To him it was nothing.

As if reading his mind, Mirror questioned, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company. And what price would you ask for your services rendered?"

"I will ask nothing from you, for you have nothing that I want. I don't think you could grant me what I desire even if I were to ask it of you." His shoulders dropped slightly as well as his chin as he took a moment of self pity. It was well deserved as there was only one thing that he could ever long for. But how could anyone ever make someone stop hating themselves for what they were? No. These women could not grant him his want and he would not beg it of them. D started to turn his horse around when the voice of Mirror once again stopped him cold.

"If you are referring to being human…?" She let her voice trail off enticingly.

D eyed her with suspicion and surprise warring on his handsome features. A gust of wind blew his hair and a sheet of now heavier rain into his face.

"…that can easily be arranged," she dangled the carrot in front of his nose. "But if you're not interested we can't—"

"Wait." He paused as if to consider his next words, "I'm listening."

The sisters looked at each other meaningfully and once again communicated their thoughts without words as they had done when they were running from the fiend. Shannon came forward slowly, her red hair dancing like a flame around her eyes.

"It is entirely possible to do what you ask, hunter, but there would be many sacrifices you would be forced to make in return. One cannot just start a new life in the midst of an old one, abandoning all they are. For think about it, is that not what you would be doing?"

She rode her horse forward and began to circle around where he sat mounted, almost taunting him. He watched her go around and come out in front of him again.

"I enjoy a challenge." He met her taunt with bravado he didn't feel. Inside he was actually a ball of anticipation; good or bad, this was yet to be determined.

"Well good. Because it's going to be one. Let's take your situation, for example. You've lived hundreds of years as whom and what you are. You've formed habits as defense mechanisms. You've come to depend on enhanced senses…" she was cut off by her sister.

"Senses you would not be in possession of if you were not what you are, dhampiel." Ranka smiled at him, waiting for him to understand.

Shannon continued, "You have also become adept at living on the go. This is not how humans live. You are intensely independent to the point of isolation, save the creature that resides in your body, correct? Not to mention the fact that you would rather avoid humans completely rather than live with them."

He was once again startled at the amount of information these women seemed to possess about him personally. He waited pensively, absorbing all the information they fed back to him, almost like a review of his existence. Finally he spoke, "I would give it all away. I could learn."

Mirror nearly glared at him in frustrated fascination "And do you think you can cast your mantle of silence and stoicism far enough aside to fool them, hunter?" She was dumbfounded at the idiocy of one such as him even considering what they had just outlined for him. He couldn't possibly grasp what they had told him. Maybe it was time to spell it out.

"We would take your memories, hunter, all of them, lock them away inside yourself forever. You would be like an infant again, learning the ways of the world. But you would be mortal then. You would not have the time to learn the things you needed to survive. You would age, you would be prone to illness, injury, suffering." She watched as his features remained motionless. "You would die!"

"I would still wish for it, _ALL_ of it."

"Then let it be granted." Ranka dismounted and motioned for D to do the same. "We need to remove from you all the vestiges of your old life. Remove your weapons." This he did with some reluctance, but from his weapons she handed back to him a dagger so as not to leave him completely defenseless for what his upcoming ordeal would be. "Now, remove your armor."

"D…?" Finally, the voice spoke up from his left hand, the other organism in his body that the sisters had spoken of, "Don't I get any say in this?"

"No." And with that, the other voice fell silent, unsure of the determination he felt from his host. He couldn't possibly be serious…? But on the other hand, he'd spoken of it for centuries, 'if only I was human,' and such lines had entered into his unconscious thoughts on many occasions and it was something that he had longed for secretly and dreamt about on many dark nights now passed.

When he had removed his armor and his cloak, he realized he felt more vulnerable than he had in as long as he could remember. He never walked unprotected around humans, male or female.

Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, he was given a final command. "Now remove your clothing. All of it." He rubbed his left arm in discomfort before he slowly complied. He did not question their motives and they looked harmless enough. If this was going to be what was needed then he would do it, albeit grudgingly.

When he stood fully exposed to their neutral gazes, his dark heavy clothing was taken up from the ground by Ranka and Mirror removed her own white cloak and rolled the outside of it in the mud that was now forming on the road until it looked suitably worn and grubby. Satisfied, this she then draped over his broad shoulders. It covered him decently enough and to his detached fascination reached to mid-calf. He was also allowed his boots as they were travel-worn enough to almost need replacing anyway.

The sisters stepped back to admire his appearance but still unsatisfied, Shannon smeared a line of mud across his cheek. She gave a slight grin of approval and once again congregated with her sisters. They agreed that all was ready.

"As we explained before," Mirror began, "we needed to remove all traces of your old life from you. You will be sent away from this place with your money and what you now wear which should be enough to at least get you started. As you are going to be starting a new life, nay, a new existence, you will be starting it from the bottom and working your way up."

D suddenly felt unsure of what he was about to do. There was so much that he was abandoning with this, so much left unfinished; his mission betrayed. He would grow old and die. What would happen to the creature in his hand? He almost raised his voice to protest but was interrupted.

"Your clothing will be left here, at the crossroads, available to you should you ever remember this place and why you were here. Just call for them, and they shall appear for you, your weapons, your horse, all of it. You are either very brave or very foolish and I am not going to be the judge of which one for it is evident that you have already chosen your course. Good fortune to you stranger, you're going to need it."

Already in the background to Mirror's final instruction, the other 2 women had begun to chant. An unnatural stirring graced the air, nothing at all having to do with the storm. D felt himself become lighter all of a sudden. His mind started to drift so far that he felt it would never return to him. In essence, that was exactly what was happening. Without warning all of it stopped and he was back in his body.

D felt strange. He dropped to his knees in the mud and his body seemed clumsy and foreign to him. Dark strands of wet hair struck wildly at his face as he struggled to find a balance with what felt were like new limbs. He had become an infant learning to use a new tool; his body. He couldn't remember what it was like to ever be this weak. Each movement felt strained and awkward. Is this how human males felt?

Brushing a strand of hair out of his face, he noticed his hand as if for the first time. The skin, once pale now held a healthy toned flush. He examined it closely, first the right then the left. Funny, it seemed like something was missing from his left hand but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He stood on shaky legs and that's when he found his senses awakened for the first time. It was **_COLD_**. He couldn't remember ever feeling the cold like this—or the rain, but he must have felt rain before…he seemed to be old enough to be on his own, wasn't he? Questions flooded his mind all at once as he realized all memories of life up until now had become really fuzzy or else faded away completely. He was aware then of three odd looking women standing before him; he was also suddenly aware of his nudity below the dirty cloak that covered him. He wrapped his arms around himself to try to trap the heat and cover himself better, as if their gazes could penetrate the fabric that wrapped him.

The one seeming to be the eldest, she had white hair, approached him cautiously. "Excuse me stranger, are you alright sir?"

He looked at her and his brow furrowed in confusion, the first expression the sisters had seen him actually portray. "I don't know."

He watched as one of the women behind her stuffed dark clothing—strangely familiar dark clothing, into a canvas sack, disappearing with it behind three horses. Funny, hadn't he been riding a horse? He had thought so, but he might have been mistaken. Why was everything so hazy?

"Well if you don't need our assistance, my sisters and I would like to get home then. Have a good evening sir."

D watched as the women mounted their horses and turned to leave. Just before they road off, the redheaded woman turned around to ask him, "By the way stranger, what's your name?"

He looked at her blankly and started to shiver. It felt strange to do such a thing, but it was natural…wasn't it? At last he broke off his own thoughts and in a voice that was swept away on the wind he replied, "I don't know."

Yeah, I couldn't resist writing this one. It's been forming in my head for about three days now and it was comprehensive enough to actually start putting into words. So please review and let me know what you think. Or just say hey. Let me know you've been here.

later,

Mannariel


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry it's been so long, folks! With all my sincere gratitude, I would like to dedicate this chapter to my boyfriend who told me to get off my butt and pursue one of my hobbies, as well as Kydasam who inspires me to no end! Anyway, onward! Disclaimer is in the first chapter.

- - - - -

**Chapter 2** – First Steps

The rain fell in torrents now as the stranger, clad only in travel worn boots and a filthy cloak made his way down the muddy road and towards the lights in the distance. With slick ebony locks plastered to the sides of a pale face, he looked no less than the picture of abject misery. He now shivered constantly and only released his death grip on the edges of the cloak to catch his balance as he slid on coltish legs on the wet earth.

Mindful of his nakedness, an acute hunger in his belly and an ache in his muscles, the man trod onward until the lights of the village grew reasonably close. Only then did he stop to get his bearings and take stock of his situation. He wanted nothing more than to rest, but there obviously were things that needed to be done…like getting clothing, for example. He also needed a plausible excuse as to why he was wandering into a strange town at sunset, with no possessions, soaking wet and wearing little more than his birthday suit.

Deciding how to next proceed, he walked with new purpose in a direction that seemed as likely a choice as any, the point being to find a tailor's shop or clothing store. Coming upon a well used street with small buildings designed in the common style of current shop fronts, he quickly found the one he needed then made his way to the door.

He was met by disappointment, however, as the owner of the establishment stepped out the door of the shop directly in front of him, heedless of his presence. A sneeze from the tall but slightly stooped stranger immediately caught his attention.

"Oh heavens! I didn't see you there, young man, what can I do for ya'?" The elderly man, still shrewd and exuberant in nature despite advanced years, quickly took in the bedraggled appearance of the stranger and set a grim look upon his features.

"I need to buy some clothing," the handsome youth said before another sneeze shook his frame. He glanced up at the man expectantly but then dipped his head again, too modest to make eye contact in his state of undress.

"So I see. Under normal circumstances I'd be closed ya know, but in your case I'll make an exception." After unlocking the door once more and turning on the lights, the man stepped out of the way to admit his eager customer. "So, how might I ask, did this dire need for clothing happen?" The man pulled on the edge of a thick grey mustache and leaned back, one hand on his lower back in an inquisitive but open posture.

"I was accosted by a group of bandits on the road and they made off with anything of value I carried."

Not missing a beat, the shopkeeper replied, "So how would you be expecting to pay for your purchases if all you have of value was taken?"

"I still have my money."

Now the man, growing a touch suspicious, leaned back even farther as if his new vantage point would give him a better look at the stranger in front of him and raised an eyebrow. He almost didn't want to ask the next question. "So how, may I inquire, did you manage that, without even so much as a pocket?"

"I keep my purse well hidden." The tall stranger looked up from his boots at this point, almost no expression on his face, before breaking into a shy smile having realized the implications of hiding a money purse on one's nude person.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh ha ha ha ha!" The shopkeeper laughed long and loudly, going so far as to bend over and slap his knee. Finally the old man caught his breath and slapped the other man heartily on the back. "Son, you're alright. Now come back here and tell me what you'll be needin'."

The old man gestured to the back of the store where the men's clothing was typically kept. He wasn't sure about the young man's price range, but judging by how well groomed he seemed to be under the muddy cloak as well as the state of his hair, he looked to be well enough off. Also, although awkward, the man carried himself fairly tall if not somewhat shyly. It's almost as if he wants to avoid being seen, the shopkeeper mused as he watched his customer carefully search through the racks.

The stranger finally chose a couple of plain white shirts, two pairs of pants—one black, one brown, a long brown leather coat, and finally because of the current state of chill settled in his bones, a large, dark grey heavy knit sweater. His boots would have to do for now. Feeling adventurous, he had the feeling he wanted to stay away from black. Something told him that black was possibly the only color he would have chosen prior to this, 'prior to what?', but it almost felt like he needed something else.

Taking his new items to the till, the dark haired man took a moment to consider his next move. Unwittingly, a somber expression lay heavy on his brow.

"The name's Montgomery, by the way," the store owner said, trying to rouse the young man in front of him from his funk, "Montgomery Pertz, but my friends call me Monty. In fact, my enemies call me Monty too, come to think of it…" he trailed off as if this sudden realization baffled him beyond comprehension.

"I'm…" a worried expression passed the strangers face but was quickly hidden. So this was new. He couldn't remember his own name. He had puzzled on it earlier as he trudged his way through the mud but the thought was quickly left behind when so many other questions jostled for top priority in his head. All he got when he thought about his name was the faint impression of the letter "D". "Damien. My name is Damien and my surname is of no moment as my father is no longer among the living." There. Satisfied that his answer would deflect most other questions on the matter, Damien placed the appropriate amount of money on the counter before the man, wearing some of his new garments of course, and proceeded back into the darkness of the rainy evening.

Monty stood behind the counter deep in thought long after this young 'Damien' had left. He seemed strange. Beyond his vague answers and odd behavior, there was also the uncanny beauty attached to the younger man. He didn't seem mean or malevolent, just a touch on the odd side. There was something about him that could not be accounted for, not just the fact that he seemingly could not remember his own name or, rather, felt he had to use an alias. Not to mention how he had obviously been wearing a woman's cloak when he walked in, the length of which was far too short. He'd have to keep an eye on this one, Monty thought to himself, for his own sake as well as all those around him. Something just wasn't right.

- - - - - - - -

Damien, now wrapped in the warmth of his new clothing made his way towards what he assumed would be his lodgings for. . .at least a while. He mounted the front porch and shook off the small excess of rain water that had collected in his hair and threads of his clothing while walking from the tailor's shop. Bracing himself, for what he didn't entirely know, he took a deep breath and approached the door to the establishment. Somewhat reluctantly he turned the knob and slipped past the door and had it closed before anyone took note of his presence. To them it would almost seem as if he had appeared out of nowhere, which is exactly why the young woman behind the desk started at his seeming materialization.

He stepped up to the counter at the entrance and took to inquiring about a room for the night.

"I'm sorry, but we seem to be a bit full right now. You've come right in the middle of the trade season so many vendors have had this place booked up weeks in advance."

"Could you suggest any other place I might stay?" the youthful gentleman asked her, an almost pleading tone to his voice. "I'll even take a stable for the night, though I have no horse. Any roof in this weather would be better than none." He leaned forward and spoke softly as if he didn't want anyone in the adjoining bar room to detect his presence, hair sweeping forward onto the counter. He looked more worried than a man of his size and bearing should given the circumstances.

Feeling sympathetic, the woman thought about it for a moment before coming up empty. Finally she addressed him again. "You know what? If you come back to me a little bit later I might be able to find you some accommodations with one of our staff in their homes. There are a couple of people who wouldn't mind sharing—for a small fee, of course."

"I'm afraid I haven't got much left in the manner of money."

"I'm sure other forms of payment could be arranged," she winked at him on the last and he was too taken aback by the suggestive comment to respond. "Oh, don't look so shocked, sugar! I was only foolin' with you! No, what I meant was you could possibly do a couple of chores to earn your bed."

He nodded then in understanding and turned his eyes to the floor, fighting the blush that had taken residence in his cheeks. He wasn't sure about much but he did have the distinct feeling that he was unaccustomed to being teased.

"Why don't you go into the other room and get yourself a drink and a good meal. I'm sure you could use it."

Well, it must have been a day of firsts for him indeed because he couldn't stifle the whispered "Thank you" that left his lips as he turned away from her clear dismissal.

Still clutching his bags in his left hand he rested his right on the door frame before gingerly peering around the corner and scanning the room in both directions. He didn't know if it was instinct or habit but something made him seek out a table in a corner or hidden in shadows. Unfortunately the worn room was well lit as well as reasonably populated.

He finally stepped into the room and watched a few heads rise in his direction. He didn't understand why he waited for hateful stares from those faces or why he held his breath. When he was met by nothing but the curiosity granted to all strangers and newcomers to a bar, he exhaled in relief and found himself a small table next to a wall and near the door. As he waited for service he found the grim expression once again befall his countenance. Lost in thought, he didn't hear his waitress approach.

"Why so serious?" he was interrupted by a small woman in her early twenties openly pouting in a parody of his own grim expression.

He cast his eyes down and shrugged again, once again not used to being teased, let alone by strangers. He offered a shy grin in polite response.

Choosing not to push, the waitress introduced herself. "Let's try this again. Hello! My name is Marcel and I will be your waitress this evening. What can I get for you?"

Still feeling confused and out of sorts, Damien didn't feel up to making any kinds of decisions at the moment, even ones as small as what he felt like eating. "Get me what sounds good to you."

Smiling brightly Marcel was quick to respond, "Oh you won't want that—how about I just get you the special."

"That's fine thank you. And a glass of wine if you please."

"Coming right up," and with that she glided off to the kitchen on cats paws. No wonder he hadn't heard her approach. She moved like a shadow.

While Damien waited, he studied his hands. You could tell a lot about a person by how their hands looked. His were long fingered, fine boned, but strong. He had calluses across his palms and the flats of the bottoms of the fingers on his right hand. Once again, he couldn't help but think that there was something strange or missing about his left one.

'But that can't be the case, stupid, it looks perfectly normal to me.' It was as if a voice spoke to him inside his own head. It didn't even sound like his own thoughts! But what did he know about his own thoughts? He could only remember as far back as when he was left by the strange women at a branch in a road in the middle of nowhere. 'So just call me your conscience and be done with it. No more mystery!' Once again stunned, Damien looked around him quickly but once again concluded that it was a voice inside his own head, interfering with his thoughts.

'Maybe I fell,' the thought to himself in his own voice, 'or maybe I'm just going crazy.'

'You were already pretty crazy to begin with if you ask me.'

"I didn't ask you! Get out of my head!" Damien lowered his voice as well as his lithe frame back into his chair as he suddenly realized that he had leapt to his feet and was holding a conversation with The Voice in his head…out loud. He wished that he could be swallowed by a hole in the floor as he realized that the crowd in the bar had quieted considerably and most were now staring his way or trying not to. Just when he could take no more and was about to leave he spotted his waitress bringing his wine.

Before she could even get it to his table he was reaching for the glass and requesting another. "Better yet, just bring me the whole bottle."

"Rough day?" she asked him but didn't expect and answer. It was her job to be chatty. It usually endeared people towards her and served to gain her better tips. "Your meal should be along shortly. There was a small mishap in the kitchen," she glanced back over her shoulder in that direction as she trailed off, "but I believe your meal was still salvageable. Just give me a wave if you need anything else." With that she was off to the other end of the bar to clear the table of one of the departing patrons.

Damien downed the first glass of wine without tasting it and as soon as the bottle arrived, promptly poured himself another. A foreign warmth had started to creep up his body and into his face and a pleasant slowness gradually permeated his limbs. Everything grew to be shrouded in an obscuring fog of blurred motion and even the smallest things suddenly took on an acute fascination for this newly born human. He found the more he drank the more profound grew the bits and snatches of conversation he was overhearing. A short while later his meal arrived.

"You might want to take it a little easier on the wine, if you don't mind me saying so sir. It's a cheap vintage but it's more potent than you might expect."

Damien just looked up at her with a slight sway to his movements, blinked and smiled pleasantly.

'He looks like an angel when he smiles,' Marcel thought to herself as she set down his food. "When you're finished you can just pay the man at the bar." He looked past her at the bartender raising his eyebrows slightly then back at her again. He nodded at her and then went straight for his food.

Damien ate like a man possessed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted anything so good and he couldn't even recall being that hungry prior to ordering. 'You weren't all that big on life's luxuries you know,' the voice in his head seemed to grumble at him but this time he was able to ignore it with the aide of the drink in his blood and the food in his mouth. He soon grew full and leaned back in his chair to enjoy the feeling for the first time.

'Everything seems so new. I don't think I was ever treated this well by people. In fact I think I avoided people in the past.'

'That's because you did. You're living life from the good side for a change so don't screw it up,' the other voice in his head answered back curtly. It was starting to actually strike him that he may very well be insane. Who else did this happen to? Did everyone have open arguments or refutes with their conscience? It's not like he could exactly just go up to someone and ask either. Maybe he had a friend who he could discuss it with?

Once again straining his memory until his head hurt—or maybe it was the wine, Damien seemed to understand that he didn't have any friends; or a wife, or children, or any contacts that he could actually call upon in his time of need. That was rather depressing he decided so he poured himself the last glass of wine and finished off the bottle.

Once again, Marcel came gliding up to his table and waited until she got his attention. "Tara, the girl at the front desk?" Damien nodded his recognition so she continued, "she says you need a place to stay."

"Mmm hm."

"Well, I live with my father in a big old farmhouse at the edge of town. If you wanted to you could stay with us for the night."

"Did Tara mention—"

Marcel cut him off, "Don't worry about money. You can work for my father for a couple of hours doing some of the chores and I'm sure that's all he'll ask for payment."

"Thank you. I don't know what else I would do at this point…I guess I could always sleep outside or something but…" he trailed off, honestly grateful for her offer.

"Don't worry about it. Please." She reached out and gave his arm a reassuring pat. "Now I get off in an hour. I just have to clear the tables of the dishes and wash them and we can go. You can just wait for me here if you like. I don't think you've got any more choice as to where to go."

He let her finish then put down his glass and stood. He leaned into her and softly asked, "Where's the bathroom?" The room was spinning mildly now and the formerly pleasant fullness of his stomach was quickly being replaced by a frantic need to evacuate its contents.

"Just right through there," she pointed out the way he had entered earlier and he was gone before she had the chance to drop her arm again. "Strange for such a big young guy to not be able to hold his liquor." Little did she know his degree of true inexperience in the matter. She passed it off with a shrug and cleaned up his table before he could return. She also took care to nudge his bags farther under the table with her foot so as not to draw attention to them being left unattended. You never knew who was prone to theft around here and with so many strangers about at this time of year it was better to be safe than sorry.

- - - - - - - -

'Good job, big guy. You showed that bottle of wine. Did a great job of shutting me up too, didn't it?' the voice inside of Damien's head taunted him. He had locked himself in one of two available stalls in the bathroom and was waiting in silent torture as he felt the pressure building in his stomach and the contents start to rise. He breathed deeply through his mouth but it could only stall the inevitable as a horrible clenching gripped his guts. He quickly flipped himself around and expelled his stomach contents into the less-than-shiny porcelain bowl. 'Well, it was a good meal while it lasted.'

"Shut up! Who are you anyway, and what the hell are you doing in my head!" he panted in torment at the voice that would not go away. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lifted himself off the floor, once more taking a seat on the toilet.

'Don't worry. You're not as crazy as you may think; believe me, I know.' Damien waited patiently for the voice to continue. 'By the way, stop talking out loud. It makes you look like and idiot and I can hear you just fine when you only think what you want me to hear. Oh yeah. I also hear all your other thoughts too. I thought you were boring before but this just confirms it. It's a lot emptier up here than even I could have anticipated, whew—"

'Could you just answer my question?'

'Right. Well, I'm a part of you as I have always been a part of you. But now, I'm just a different part of you! He he he. Wait. Now you're probably more confused.' Damien rubbed his temples in exasperation but didn't interrupt despite his better judgment. Finally what he wanted to know came out. 'I was sort of like your guide in the past. I'm really a sort of parasite, but I'm a helpful parasite. It's just that now I'm not a physical part of your body, I only exist as a sort of conscience. I'm going to be helping you make some decisions from now on but you'll probably be pig-headed as always and ignore perfectly sane advice. Except maybe now that you're human you won't have the same kind of kamikaze tendencies you used to have—oops.'

'Wait a second. You said 'now that you're human'. So what was I before?'

'I'm sorry,' the voice did sound truly repentant, 'I've said too much. You're not even supposed to know that you're not really you. I'm sure you've noticed that everything seems a bit out of place lately?'

'Yeah.'

'Well it feels like that for a reason and will continue to do so until you've lived out the span of your days. Like I said before, you're the other half now. You got your wish, D.' and with that, the voice fell silent leaving Damien to his own bemused thoughts.

After his very enlightening conversation with his head he walked in a daze back to his table and put his head down on his arms, the thick wool of his new sweater acting as more than an adequate pillow. He was so tired now, the dizziness adding to his fatigue but the sick feeling all but forgotten. He would straighten this out tomorrow. Meanwhile he waited patiently for Marcel to get off work. He just wanted to sleep.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ta-Da! Pats self on back and gives Puddle (my 10 lb pussycat) a big hug I'm finally back into the headspace of this fic. It just took my boyfriend going out and buying me the Vampire Hunter D soundtrack to get there. I should also rent the movie again as well. Due to his circumstances, I felt I could play with D's character a little bit but I didn't want to wander too far from what he's supposed to be. But, let's let the boy have a little fun, shall we? Naaahhhhhhhh.

THANK YOU, once again, to KYDASAM! You're name is a banner hung in my head to march at the head of my fanfiction muses' army.


	3. Gettting Acquainted

Ok, so I had a dream and I'm picking up the pen again so to speak. I'm not sure how this is going to turn out as the concept came to me around 2 years ago now and I think it's going to be kind of hard to step back into it, but I'm going to try. Onwards!

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**Chapter 3: Getting Acquainted**

"Hey, I know I've been gone awhile, but wake up!" Damien awoke to the sound and feel of Marcel shaking his shoulder. He'd fallen asleep on his arm on his table and as his head rose the imprint of the knit from his sweater was clearly visible imprinted into the side of his face.

"Sorry about that. I've been traveling all day." Feeling this sounded acceptable, Damien collected his bags from beneath his chair and followed the young woman out of the bar room and into the relatively chilly evening air.

They walked in somewhat awkward silence towards the outskirts of the village where the shops ended and a slightly muddy dirt road began. As they neared the out buildings a couple of shadows stepped into the diffused light of the feeble street lamps and into their path.

"Hey Marcel! Who's the pretty boy?" A younger man wearing a brown duster and equally worn leather hat grinned from behind the toothpick in his teeth. He posed in a cocky sort of slant, head tilted downward before taking a few steps forward to circle the pair in the street. His two buddies just stood by and watched, grim expression on the face of a burly dark haired man, amused smirk on the face of a scraggly blond.

"Leave us alone, Jason. I've just had one hell of a shift and I'm not about to put up with your stink all over me tonight."

"Alright then pretty lady," he held up his hands in mock placation before stepping back and giving them a wider berth in deference to her request. "I guess I'll just catch you later then. See ya, pretty boy!" His friends snickered as they followed him into the darkness of an unlit part of the street, disappearing behind some buildings shortly after.

"Jerks," Marcel mumbled under her breath. The attractive stranger at her side caught the comment but said nothing in reply. "They think they're God's gift to women or something, but I've seen more personable things crawl out of holes in the ground."

She looked over at Damien, pleased to note that she had induced the slight smile on his face once again. To redirect the mood of the conversation, he tried to change the subject. "So what does your father do?"

"Oh, he's a rancher. He raises livestock and keeps some hens for laying eggs. He's also tried his hand at growing crops, but he just doesn't seem to have the touch for the land that some others around here do."

Damien got a sudden mental image of a stocky man trying to coax plants out of the soil with odd hand gestures. 'Where did that come from?' he wondered to himself. Oh well, not important.

"Anyway, if you stay with us for longer than you plan, he'll probably integrate you into the running of the farm pretty quickly. It's almost at a crucial season for the animals. Their wool needs to be harvested and they need to be rounded up for butchering. Think you'd be able to help with something like that?"

"I don't think that would be a problem. I'm good with my hands," he faltered slightly after that statement. He was becoming unnerved by this mysterious knowledge without actually knowing anything. It was really getting frustrating. He brushed a strand of chestnut hair back behind one ear but lowered his head so it instantly fell free once more.

"So where do you come from?" Marcel gave him a sidelong glance to keep from staring directly at him. There was something about the grace of his movements with his simultaneous shyness that was immediately endearing. The girl had realized some time ago that she knew nothing at all about this stranger but bringing people home during the trade seasons was nothing new to her. 'Besides,' she told herself, 'I know how to defend myself should it come down to that.'

The man didn't know how much he should initially reveal to her about how much he did or rather didn't know about himself. The crossroads where he had started his whole misadventure seemed like ages ago, though it had merely been a few hours. He decided to trust his instincts and let them reveal to both of them what they could. Maybe she'd be able to jog some of his memories loose.

"Well, I come from pretty far away. You probably wouldn't have heard of it, though." He let the silence hang between them. What he said had felt right, but in more ways than one. He felt that to travel to where he came from originally would be immense distance wise, but he also had a sense that it also spanned far longer than was possible in terms of years. Why did he suddenly feel so old? He jammed his hands into his pockets—what was to become his first nervous gesture and seemed to shrink into himself.

Marcel noted that his eyes suddenly looked a million miles away. If only she knew how far he truly spanned. She decided to leave his past alone for the time being and focus on his present. "So why travel so far just to come here? Are you just passing through?"

"I don't really know yet. I guess you could say I'm a wanderer of sorts. I just have this need to keep moving. It's almost like I'm looking for something, but I don't really know what just yet." Shit. Did he just reveal too much?

'Nah, you should be fine. The chick hasn't even got past your dashing good looks yet, why would she focus on anything you were saying?'

It was that infernal voice again! Damien thought that he had gotten rid of it; at least for a little while.

'You can't get rid of me that easily, my friend. I annoyed you before—for a very long time in fact, so why should I stop now?'

Meanwhile, Marcel puzzled over what he had said to her. 'What an odd young man. Does he realize what he sounds like when he speaks? He's probably just tired. Who knows how far the poor thing's come.' She pointed out a spot not far down the road and slightly off towards a wooded glen.

"That's where we're going. I suggest you go right to bed when you get there. You can wash up from your travels in the morning when we get up. My father's an early riser and he views those who don't do the same as basically lazy, so if you want to make a good first impression just trust me. I'm sure he'll like you once he gets to know you," she paused. How could she assume such a thing? She didn't even know him yet. He seemed to have some kind of quality that just begged a person to love him. He looked so lost and…sad. "Anyway, dad's probably sleeping already so just head up the stairs and to the second room on the left when you get in. The less we talk, the less likely we are to wake him up."

After that, they approached the house in silence, their footsteps and the occasional rustle of Damien's purchases the only sound to be heard in the quiet night. The darkness held it's breath as a fog slowly crept in and all the nocturnes remained silent.

As his foot hit the first worn step up to the front porch, the hairs on the back of his arms raised themselves and he stopped stone cold. He felt like eyes pierced the back of his skull and with an unsettled shake of his dark mane he turned his head and tried to search the darkness with inadequate sight.

"What's wrong?"

What could he say? He felt something. "Nothing. I just thought I heard something. It's probably just tired nerves." With that he slowly turned around and proceeded after her into the maw of the dark front door.

No lights were left on and the only thing illuminating the interior of the house was the sparse amounts of moonlight that managed to splash the walls and wood floors through curtain tinted windows. Damien moved with ease despite this towards the even darker staircase as if he had lived there for years although he had never set foot in the dwelling before this night. He went up the stairs and scarcely a stray board creaked such was the silence of his passage. He passed doorways down a quiet hallway. One on the left; a bathroom, one on the right where someone snored deeply, the sleep of a long day fulfilled, another one on the right, this one a closet and finally the second door on the left.

Cautiously, he pushed it open and swept it closed behind him. A window positioned over the bed allowed the light to filter in and him to get more than just the sense of his surroundings. A small dresser in the corner, a closet, a stand with the standard water jug and wash basin. Nothing remarkable about the room but Damien took in its features like memorizing the face of a stranger and began to settle into what would be his space for the next stretch of his existence.

'Not a bad spread overall. I think I could get used to this life. A home, a woman to come home to at the end of the da-'

"Who said anything about any of that?" Damien angrily questioned the Voice in his head. He was tired of its presumptuousness and desperately wanted to be rid of it. It was starting to drive him mad, although he had the inkling that he had probably dealt with it for a very long time and that it might have even served him well once.

'Remember, I can hear your thoughts. If the girl or her father hears you talking out loud they're going to send you right off to the nut house.'

'Don't worry. I'll just tell them I was praying.' A burst of laughter wound its way through his head and rattled his nerves even more.

'You! Pray! That's a good one, D. Glad to see you still have that razor sharp wit.'

The dark haired former hunter sighed in exasperation and decided to start readying himself for a well deserved sleep. Realizing that he hadn't thought that far ahead in his clothing selection, he decided to just sleep in the buff. It's not like he was sharing a room or anything.

There was something very vulnerable, almost sensual about the feel of the covers on his naked skin as he slid between the cool sheets. He let his head fall back onto the pillows, his hair a wash of silk against the white linen. He tried lying on his back with the covers neatly laid out flat on top of him. Not quite to his satisfaction, Damien curled up on his side and drew all the covers into the centre of the double bed and made himself a comfortable nest. 'Much better,' he thought to himself with a certain amount of freedom he had never felt before. Caressed by the soft fabric, he was finally able to banish all stray thoughts from his mind and fall into a comfortable semblance of sleep.

Out in the darkness of the surrounding fields, shadows played and took shape between the stalks of corn. On silent feet they traveled, many of them together, all towards the same thing: the small town in the distance. An eerie howl broke out among them with others answering the call soon after. The shadows converged on a small house on the edge of town.

Livestock animals took from their beds and began to whicker and stomp in fright. Their nervous screams could be heard clearly in the darkness by any around to listen, those who were too foolish to already have found their beds.

Rancid snarls came from shiny lips of the shadow beasts in the night as their prey began to fall one by one. Stomachs and throats ripped clean open, flesh sundered from bone and wails of the dying and panicked gave away the position of this morbid feast.

Damien shot up in bed from his short slumber. Pausing but a moment to gain his bearings in the unfamiliar room, he quickly regained himself and leapt to the window to gain a better look, his nakedness forgotten. Seeing the carnage below, he quickly donned his pants and slipped into his worn boots. He grabbed his shirt on the way out the door but was presently confronted in the hallway outside his room.

"Who the devil are you?" the voice of Marcel's father belted out in the darkness to his left.

"It doesn't matter. Marcel brought me here. Quick! We have to go outside and see if we can help. Those are your animals being slaughtered if I'm not mistaken."

Without further words the pair thundered down the stairs into the dark entrance hall.

"What's going on?" Marcel's sleepy head peaked its way out from behind a corner of the stairs.

"Werewolves," her father replied, a high powered rifle suddenly in one hand. He threw open the front door and was preceded by Damien onto the creaky boards of the front porch. He stopped where he was as soon as the carcasses of his animals came into his view illuminated by the moonlight.

"We're too late, son. I don't see anything we can do to help them now." The shadowed attackers could be seen floating on unnaturally bent legs into the woods at the far end of the property. In no time they had disappeared. The pair could see the mist of their breath falling from primed lungs into the night air. "Go back into the house and wait for me there. I'll have to check on the animals before I can come back inside anyway."

Damien finally was able to properly slip into his shirt and button it up the front. In the chill of the evening he wished he would have thought to grab his sweater or coat.

'That went well,' commented the voice inside his head before falling silent.

"I'm sorry about this, Damien," Marcel told him. She was now seated at the table in her night clothes and a warm looking bathrobe. "I haven't heard of werewolves in this area for a very long time now. Funny that they should just show up out of nowhere like that."

"Don't apologize. I'm accustomed to surviving on very little sleep, and werewolves are hardly anyone's fault."

"I see you've met Dad."

Damien didn't answer her. He just sat there staring blearily at the top of the oak table top where he sat.

"You know what? I don't think we're going to be going back to sleep for a while. I'm going to make some tea. I'm sure dad's going to wanna talk to you anyway."

The faint sound of gunshots could be heard a short distance away from the house. The dark haired young man rose from his seat but a hand on his arm stopped him from going farther.

"He's just shooting the animals too injured to survive. He doesn't like to see anything suffer, my dad. He's had to do this before when some coyotes got into the pens at night." Marcel had placed the pot on the stove to boil the water for tea and a short time later the front door opened to admit her father.

The man was a fair height with a slight bulge over his belt. He had thinning hair that was starting to grey and a slightly unruly moustache. Years of working on the farm had given him a firm build in the upper body and shoulders but he seemed to walk with a slight limp.

"Now that we have some time, how's about a proper introduction? My name's Bill. Pill Payton. What can I call the latest stray that my daughter's brought home with her?" He gave her an amused wink before redirecting his eyes to the handsome stranger in their midst.

"Dad, this is Damien. He says he's been traveling and –" she was interrupted before she could finish.

"I'm sure this young man, Damien did you say? Can answer for himself."

"I'm pleased to meet you, sir. I—" he was also interrupted.

"Call me Bill. If you're going to be staying here a while, and from what my daughter's said I'm sure you will be, you might as well call me Bill."

"Alright. Bill. I've come in from out of town. I don't have a predetermined purpose here, but I'm willing to work to earn my bed and if I pose an inconvenience to you or your family, just say so and I'll be on my way."

"Now why would you say a thing like that?" Bill seemed to be quite a shrewd man and he eyed Damien suspiciously after his explanation.

"What I meant was I don't want to overstay my welcome. I have no attachments here and would have no qualms about leaving. That does not mean that I do not wish to be here for any particular reason."

Satisfied, Bill took a seat across from Marcel and set the rifle on the floor leaned up against the table. He made sure that it wasn't cocked and that the safety was set.

Not long after, the pot on the stove began to boil. The girl took down three cups and placed one in front of each setting before collecting the teapot and a couple of tea bags from a cupboard above the sink.

Bill had already started to explain some of the tasks that the young man would be expected to help out with. He finished by saying, "Whatever time you have left over is your own. Just stay out of trouble."

Damien thought this was rather odd but didn't comment.

Marcel's father evaluated the well spoken youth across the table from him with curious regard. He noted his pale flesh first of all. It almost looked like the boy was sickly or that he might be unaccustomed to working outdoors. Bill pondered the boy's usefulness in a farm setting but decided to leave that until he could be proven wrong. Next he noted Damien's height and build. His upper body looked deceptively strong as if he was used to heavy labour but the leanness of his torso didn't fit the bill. He almost looked like a swordsman? But that couldn't be right. No one around here, or anywhere used swords for anything anymore. It was all quick action, high powered energy weapons…unless you were a hunter. This waif before him hardly looked old enough to be away from home at all, let alone be a hunter. However he did have a certain agelessness about his eyes…

He was distanced from his musings as a stream of steaming amber liquid was poured into the cup in front of him. "Thanks, dear." He kissed Marcel on the cheek before she could step away.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take my tea up to my room. It's been quite the long day and I don't think that I'm any kind of company to be around right now. If you'll excuse me,"

"Of course, Damien. Get some rest." Marcel smiled at him as he stood gracefully and followed the stairs up to his room. The door could be heard closing quietly from where they sat at the table and the older man looked at his daughter.

"I want you to be careful around him. I know I say this every time we have a guest in our home but I mean it."

"Yes, dad."

"I know you're old enough to think you can take care of yourself, but I worry. You're the only one I have left since your mom died, you know."

"I know dad. Don't worry."

"And while you're at it, keep an eye on him for me. Something seems strange about that young man and if he's as new in town as he seems to be, he'll be needing a little help with the locals. I hate to say it, but having someone like that walking around is like throwing a sheep to the wolves."

"Dad!"

"You know what I mean. I know you've noticed that he's…handsome. There are those out there who would take advantage of that. You know what I'm talking about"

"DAD!" Marcel blushed where she sat and stared at the floor trying to regain her composure. Was he serious!

"Anyway, I'm going to bed. Goodnight dear." Bill drained his cup and set it on the table before taking the rifle to the closet where it had been so speedily retrieved earlier. "Just leave the dishes. That can be one of the first tasks you assign our guest when he wakes up in the morning." With that he turned around on tired legs and made his way up the stairs to bed.

Meanwhile, having already finished his tea Damien stripped once more and crawled back into the welcoming softness of his disturbed nest. He was now thoroughly exhausted and wasted no time in falling asleep. For the rest of the night he dreamt of quick shadows in dark places, white fangs and streams of blood. But most notably, Damien dreamed of wolves.


	4. Chapter 4

With little preamble, I shall proceed. I am sure you've already noted that this story will progress at my own pace. Sometimes the urge to write just hits me and I will not force it if it will not come. Now, onward!

**Chapter 4: Working Things Out**

Damien woke the next morning with little drowsiness pulling him down. The warmth of the bed and a faint headache, if nothing else, called him to lie down again and fall into dark slumber once more. However, wanting to make a good impression, he decided to rise. He swiftly went through usual morning rituals of washing before pulling a new pair of pants out of one of his bags. He finished it off with a maroon work shirt and pulled his new sweater over his head to ward off the chill of the early morning.

Downstairs, breakfast was already in full swing. The smell of fresh coffee wafted past sleepy nostrils soon to also be assailed by the welcomed fragrance of frying bacon and eggs. Damien moved to sit but was quickly redirected.

"Not so fast there," Bill cordially stopped him. "Before anyone sits in this house, there is work to be done. Your first task of the day is to clean up the dishes from last night. And when we finish eating, you will take care of those dishes as well. Seeing as it is your first time, Marcel will help you figure out where everything goes. After that, you're on your own. Get used to it because no one serves anyone in this house."

Nodding with no verbal response, Damien stepped to the sink and started to fill it with hot tap water.

"The dish rags are in that drawer over there and the soap is under the sink. You can leave the clean dishes on the draining board next to the sink for now, but after breakfast I'll show you where to put everything away."

Dishes washed, table set and breakfast ready, everyone sat down to eat.

"Do you believe in saying grace?"

Damien looked up at Bill and wondered what the right answer would be to that question in this house. He had the feeling that he'd stopped believing in any kind of god a long time ago but he knew that many of the homes on the frontier revolved around a strict religious regimen. He decided to go with what he knew.

"I'm more a person of fact and science myself. I'm not opposed to following the customs of a household, especially one granting me sanctuary, but I must admit I haven't uttered a prayer or a blessing in a very long time."

"Well, not to offend anyone or anything, but that's more than fine with me. The last young man we had staying here wouldn't do anything without a personal consult from his 'god', if you know what I mean."

Damien looked a little baffled and turned to Marcel in question. She responded by making a discreet drinking motion and they both smirked in understanding. With that off color reference out of the way and the air cleared, they all took to eating with gusto.

Once dishes were done and put away with some confusion and bumping in to one another in the fairly small kitchen area, the young man looked to Bill for his next set of instructions. With his back turned, he missed the somewhat admiring look he was given by Marcel.

A warm flannel work jacket was thrust into his hands and he was ushered onto the front porch by Marcel's father.

"The first thing we have to get done this morning is disposing of the animals that were taken down last night. Now that's not going to take both of us and the other animals still need to be fed, so which job do you want?"

Without a second thought, the youth opted for taking care of last nights casualties. He figured it would probably take too long for the farmer to explain to him the where and how much of feeding all the livestock so it would probably be easier this way. He was wrong.

"Have you been around horses very much, son?"

"I think s--yeah. Yes, I have. I'm quite familiar with the handling of equines, both natural and cyborg." That uncanny other sense had kicked in again and guided him in his answer.

"Well, here's a pair of work gloves," they were promptly slapped into his open hand, "and there's a shovel in that shed over there. I'll bring out my horse. I want you to hitch him to the wagon, load up all the carcasses and burry them at the far end of the pasture across the main road by that bluff over there. You should see a large pile of stones out there and anywhere around that spot should be far enough away. All that meat is bound to attract unwanted attention so that's why we have to burry it so far away."

"And where are the…bodies?"

"Oh yeah, almost forgot that. They're in that shed over there where I told you the shovel was. I locked them up in there for the night 'cause I figured you wouldn't want to be handling that kind of job in the dark."

"Thanks for your consideration on that one." With that, they both set out in their separate directions and set to work.

The horse that Bill brought out to Damien was a very large black natural animal with white on the muzzle and fetlocks. Its hooves were the size of dinner plates and its neck was arched in a very grand bow. "He's getting on in years, but he gets the job done."

Damien patted the great beasts head affectionately as he was handed the halter. "What's his name?"

Bill smiled to himself in silent reminiscing before a short chuckle left his frame. "Well, this here is Old Joe. He's had the temperament of an old man since he was a foal. He may look mean, but he's a gentle giant." With that, the farmer turned his back and strode off to his own tasks.

With deft efficiency Damien harnessed Joe to the old four wheeled hay wagon and set to the unpleasant work of moving all the carcasses into the back. Before long, rivulets of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and wetted the back of his neck, dampening his hair. Starting to feel the discomfort of it, he began to remove his flannel and his sweater. With a little bit of deliberation, he decided to remove his other shirt as well and just stick to wearing the flannel.

Unbeknownst to him, Marcel took more than slight interest from a window upstairs where she was just collecting the laundry. "Now that would be a man worth getting to know."

Back outside, Damien had already replaced the necessary clothing and loaded the shovel next to the driver's seat in the wagon and had started to head out to the instructed location to dispose of the animals.

The ground where the spade he wielded struck the earth with a dull thud was like driving into cement and it jarred his back and shoulders with each blow. Soon he was panting but still persistently attending to his work. Finally the ground started to give and he found that if he planted the spade tip then jumped on it with his full wait that he could actually get it to cleave the earth somewhat cleanly. Soon uncomfortably hot as the damp of the morning was wearing off and the sun had broken over the trees on the horizon, Damien found himself once more removing his jacket.

'Well hello there, stud muffin. Whoo!'

"Oh no, not you again."

'You know, I think this whole experience is good for you. You might be able to attract a nice woman for yourself…or man. You're not into men, are you? Because there's noth-'

"QUIET!"

'All I meant was even I've never seen you this exposed outside of bathing before. If anyone else catches sight of you, you're probably in for a few admirers. Not to mention Marcel…'

"Well, we shouldn't have to worry about that, should we? Or should I say 'I'? There doesn't seem to be anyone else around for miles and the house is way too far away for anyone to see anything more than a white spec in the distance, now will you leave me alone? Please?!"

'I don't think I've every heard you use such polite speech with me either. Usually it's just, "Silence!"'

"Fine then, if you prefer that, SILENCE!!!"

'No need to shout! Like I said before, someone's going to think you're crazy or something, out here all alone and talking to yourself.'

Damien was throwing more and more effort into his shoveling just as he was trying harder and harder to convince himself he wasn't going crazy and arguing with a voice in his head. He decided that if he was going nuts then he'd at least enjoy himself by indulging in a little shouting. And why not?

"Well it still doesn't matter, because there's still NOBODY HE-"

"Who are you talking to? I could hear you yelling half way across the pasture!"

This sudden interruption caused him to pause mid-scoop and slowly turn his head to see Marcel standing behind him, smiling politely. Heat rushed to his face and he suddenly felt very naked on top of being extremely mortified at his behavior.

"I just came out here to bring you a thermos of water and I heard you talking and yelling—I thought you might be trying to scare something off, but then you didn't seem very aware of what was going on around you. What were you doing?" She crossed her arms and gave him a sideways teasing look.

He planted the spade in a loose pile of dirt and slowly removed his gloves. He grasped frantically for any excuse in his mind and was surprised to discover the sizeable hole he had already dug. An idea suddenly popped into his head.

"You were sort of right. I was keeping the bears away. I've heard that making noise ensures that they don't stumble upon you by accident and gives them no reason to attack you." He gave her his first real smile and hoped that his explanation would be bought. It seemed to work.

"Well, anyway, here's your water. I also wanted to tell you that dad doesn't have much for you to do after you're done here and I have to work later. I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me into town this afternoon. You can't just sit at home all night; you'll get bored."

He nodded his thanks before drinking deeply of the proffered thermos. He was parched and he hadn't even noticed. Had he always been this susceptible to suggestion?

"Anyway, I'll give you a shout from the road when lunch is ready. Don't work too hard." She gave him a parting wave even as her feet were carrying her in the opposite direction, back to the farmhouse.

"Thanks for the warning. Jackass," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't expecting any answer from his head on that one, so he replaced his gloves and once again got back to shoveling.

Some time later, he had finished covering the carcasses and was headed back to the yard. He left the wagon by the barn and unhitched Joe. He led the horse over to the trough and let him drink for a while before taking him into the barn. Damien hung up the tack and closed Joe in a free stall. He made sure the horse had some hay in his feed trough and fetched a curry comb from a nearby shelf. He then quietly began to groom the horse, brushing his black coat until it was sleek and shiny in the dim light. He stood beside the animal and petted him, marveling and the familiarity of the actions he tended. He was soon brought out of his reverie by quiet footsteps falling in the straw.

"You work pretty fast," Bill nodded to him in approval as he noted that the horse had already been thoroughly taken care of. "Frankly, I wasn't too sure how much help you'd be. You didn't really look up to the heavy work I'd need you doing but I think that you've more than proven yourself. Lunch is ready in the house if you want to go get cleaned up." The farmer then turned away and made his own way to the farmhouse.

"Thank you, sir," Damien said quietly, even though he knew the man was already out of earshot.

After everyone had eaten and the dishes were cleaned and put away, Marcel got ready for work and went to fetch their strange guest who had been quiet in his room for the last half an hour. She pushed open the well worn door which opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Before her on the bed lay the young stranger. He was on top of the bed clothes and in a fresh pair of pants but still wearing his relatively clean maroon shirt from that morning. He appeared to be dozing softly in the early afternoon light filtering through the thin curtains. He looked so peaceful that she hated to rouse him, but she had promised so she crept to his bedside and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open in a flash while the rest of him remained perfectly still. Marcel found it terribly eerie but she didn't comment on it.

"Are you ready to go yet?"

"Hmmm?" He still seemed to be mildly disoriented.

"I asked earlier if you would come into town with me?" she prompted.

"Oh yes, of course. Just give me a minute. I need to brush my hair first."

"Trust me, you look just fine." She threw a wink at him and fairly bounced out of the room.

Almost into town, Damien made to speak. "So how does your father feel about you working so late? Did I ask you that already?"

"Yeah, you did. Like I said before, he worries like all fathers are prone to, but he knows I can take care of myself."

They continued on in silence and Damien took note of how the long coat he wore swirled around him in the fairly strong wind that had kicked up that afternoon. He thought about how he must look to other people when they saw him. He knew he was tall, pale and dark featured. Did he look threatening to them? Dangerous? Did he look…sexy?

He quickly batted that thought away when the voice in his head piped up, 'you look like sex on two legs, my demented friend.'

"Do you read at all?" Marcel asked him somewhat shyly. Books out here were something of a rare commodity since the rise and fall of some of the most brilliant technology the world had ever seen became commonplace. Even rarer was the occurrence of literacy on a wide scale in the frontier towns, especially the less than wealthy ones.

"If you're asking can I read, then the answer is yes. Do I read for pleasure? I don't think I've ever really had much time for it."

She looked at him askance and shot straight for the heart. "You answer a lot of questions with 'I think.' What do you know? Are you in trouble or something that you have to reform your identity? I can't help but feel you're hiding something. I don't really want to pry or anything, but you can talk to me if you want to."

He evaded her questions with a simple answer. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks." He wore a faint look of displeasure on his face and was sinking swiftly into a dark mood. Marcel decided to pull him out of it and redirect him to what she wanted to know for in the first place.

"Anyway, there's a small shop in town I thought you might be interested in if you wanted to get some reading material. They have quite a collection and now that you're here and you're going to have some extra time on your hands, I thought you might want to check it out."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Come on, I'll show you." She led him to a small shop front and pushed open the door. A small bell jingled merrily as they entered a dark and somewhat dusty room. The door seemed to shut out a lot of the afternoon sunlight but sporadically placed bare bulbs illuminated the assortment of strange and antiquated merchandise within. With a start, he noted that the same man who had sold him his clothing the night before stood behind the counter. It was the same shop.

"Hello again there, stranger. Hey Marcel! What can I get you fine folks today?"

"Hi Monty! I was hoping that you could show Damien here some of the books you've collected. He says he can read and he needs something to kill some time while he's here."

"No problem, little lady. Right this way, sir."

The spry old man quickly guided them through the rows of tailored clothing, past the tables heaped with junk that Damien hadn't noticed upon his first visit due to his singular goal at the time, and through a dusty patterned curtain hanging in a low doorway. The youth actually had to stoop slightly to enter.

"Now did our reader have anything in mind?"

"Not really. I just came to look. I don't even know if I'll buy anything yet."

"Oh, never mind this buying nonsense. For Marcel, I'll make you a deal. If you see anything that interests you, I'll lend it to you for a small deposit. When you're done, you bring that book back and borrow another or just get your deposit back. Simple, huh?"

He gave his slightly sad smile and nodded his head. "That's sounds great. I really appreciate that you'd do something like that for someone you hardly know." In fact, he was completely taken aback at all of the polite treatment he had received since the previous evening. He must have been treated rather nastily in the past to be blown away when he was treated with general common decency. Maybe he was a criminal or on the run from something?

Once Damien was comfortably ensconced in row after row of dusty but well kept tombs, Monty voiced a chilling piece of friendly gossip that all small towns are known for.

"I heard you had some trouble with wolves at your farm last night. That true?"

Marcel turned towards the old man and smiled politely. "My dad says they were werewolves actually, and I'm sure whatever you heard has been embellished beyond that fact."

Monty laughed at that and wiped his glasses on an old handkerchief he had produced from his vest pocket. "I'm sure you're right, Miss Marcel. The latest gossip was that you were all torn apart in your sleep or some such rubbish so I'll agree that it might have been stretched a little in the telling."

"We did lose some livestock, but I'd say that's a far cry from the crazed misfortune you heard."

Meanwhile, Damien listened to the conversation and though he had no reason to make any connection, he couldn't help but think that somehow the werewolf attack at the farm had been his fault. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, he selected a book at random and held it up. "I'll take this one, please."

"Well right this way and I'll get that signed out for you. In a bit of a hurry are you?"

"No, but I don't want to make Marcel late for work. What kind of guest would that make me?"

Monty nodded in agreement and preceded them once more from the back room.

Transaction completed, the pair once again made their way out into the sunshine. The young man stopped to turn his face towards the sun and take a deep breath of warm air.

"What was that all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"That quick exit!"

Damien looked at the dust at his boots a little guiltily and mumbled his response in the opposite direction.

"I didn't quite catch that," Marcel stepped closer and swung him to face her.

"I don't like small spaces, alright? I felt closed in in there and I had to get out." People passed them on the street. Some averted their eyes and walked quicker, not wanting to intrude, while others stopped to more openly gape at the pale handsome youth. Marcel smiled quickly and resumed walking.

"Ok, I'll leave you alone now. I should probably get to work anyway. My shift starts soon. And no doubt everyone's going to want to know about the handsome stranger staying on our farm…or how we were torn apart by wolves in our sleep!" With that, she kept walking and left him standing there to collect his dignity. He heard whispers behind his back from a couple of women passing by.

"What?!" he shot them in exasperation.

They just giggled and quickened their pace. After that, he started making his way around to get a feel for the layout of the town. It seemed an old habit he wouldn't be losing any time soon, but he figured it had probably served him well in the past.

The sun was already getting low in the sky. Damien hadn't been paying attention to the passing of time as he explored the small collection of window fronts or other small things of interest that captured his attention. So it's no surprise that he almost walked into the three men that stepped out the door of a building right into his path.

"Well, if it ain't the pretty boy." Jason and his cronies sneered at him and moved to fully block his path. "You know you should really watch where you're walking or someone's liable to get hurt." Even though the man stood about half a head shorter than the youth, he didn't feel he'd have much of a problem pushing him around. He decided that he should have some fun with the man before he let him go.

"So where are you headed? Someone lookin' as appealing as you shouldn't be walking around without an escort."

Damien scowled at the man in his path before trying to step around him without either replying or putting his fist through the man's face.

"Now hold on there a minute, I don't believe we got an answer out of you yet." The smirk fell from his face and was replaced by a challenging scowl. "Who do you think you are? You think you're better than me?"

Damien exhaled carefully and chose his words carefully, "I'd tell you my name if I thought you'd any right to it or that you'd actually use it. But seeing as that doesn't seem likely, I thought I'd just keep my mouth shut. Now if you'll excuse me…" he gave them a grimace of a smile and tried to move forward once more. This time he was met with physical resistance.

Jason stepped right in front of him and gave him a good push. Damien stumbled back a couple of steps and re-evaluated. It looked like he wasn't going to get through this one until some inane point was made by the group of loudmouths in front of him or until a more violent confrontation took place.

"Fine. I'll bite. What do you want?"

"What do I want? I don't want nothin' from a turd like you, pretty boy. Here I thought we'd have a nice friendly conversation about, I don't know, Marcel maybe. Then, you don't give me nothin' but lip. I don't take kindly to that."

"I think I see what you think this is about. There's nothing to it. This isn't my business and from what she's told me, she isn't your business, so the way I see it, we have nothing more to talk about."

Jason did not react well to this little piece of news. He turned around and made it look like he was about to talk to his buddies but before anything was said he whipped around and his fist was already sailing into Damien's jaw. In the seconds that followed, Damien found himself on his knees with his arms twisted behind his back and a hand in his hair at the nape of his neck.

"Now you look here, boy," Jason now had the look of fowl intent in his cold eyes and it was directed straight at the youth at his feet. "Marcel and I got along just fine before you strolled in last night and one day, I fully intend to make her my wife."

Not really thinking terribly smart at the moment, there was no censuring what came out of the youth's mouth next. "Marcel doesn't even like you and there's about a snowball's chance in hell that she would ever marry you." That comment bought him another punch in the face and a knee to the midsection. Damien spit out a mouthful of blood from where he'd bitten his cheek on the first punch and glared at Jason from his position on the ground. On instinct, the corner of his lips peeled back and he bared his teeth at his instigator.

"Maybe we should make it where you ain't quite so pretty. Mess ya up real good." Jason's fist tightened in Damien's hair and the other hand came up to stroke his cheek with surprising gentleness. Damien tensed further but there was really nothing he could do about his current situation. "Na, maybe we'll put that pretty mouth of yours to another use."

A feeling of dread rose up in the pit of his stomach and he could feel his eyes start to sting. Had he ever felt this helpless before? His sudden renewed struggles brought Jason out of his gentle stroking and earned Damien one more punch to the stomach before he was thrown to the ground.

"Maybe we'll save that pleasure for another day. In the meantime, pretty boy, stay away from Marcel." Jason and his cronies threw their heads back and roared with laughter before kicking dirt at him and walking away.

The shaken youth picked up his book which had been dropped during the confrontation and as best he could, beat the dust off himself. His eyes still burned but he fought off the feeling, focusing on the pain in his face and torso instead. After the work he had done today and the fight just now, he was going to be really sore tomorrow.

Sweating, angry and embarrassed, Damien wiped the blood from his chin and started making his way homeward. He didn't much feel like explaining what happened to Bill so he just snuck into the house, straight up to his room and went to bed.


End file.
